


the same beautiful thing.

by MitsuhaMiyamizi



Category: The Dark Artifices Series - Cassandra Clare, The Wicked Powers Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Awkward Dates, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Demon slaying, Established Relationship, Hot Chocolate, I hope, Ice Skating, M/M, Oh also, Swearing, Telling Stories, There are swear words, blackthorn family - Freeform, enjoy bitches, just some fluff, la in the winter, some fun stuff here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24981403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MitsuhaMiyamizi/pseuds/MitsuhaMiyamizi
Summary: Kit Herondale loves Christmas. This Christmas is no exception.
Relationships: Tiberius Blackthorn/Kit Rook
Comments: 1
Kudos: 43





	the same beautiful thing.

**Author's Note:**

> read it on tumblr: https://mitsuhamiyamizi.tumblr.com/post/622270453286830080/the-same-beautiful-thing-may-2020
> 
> this is based off an oddly specific headcanon by @bookish-mind!
> 
> hope you enjoy!

Kit Herondale, has, admittedly, always had a bit of a thing for Christmas. 

He’s always thoroughly enjoyed it. Back then, it was a thing for the crowds— large crowds, busy people, easy to steal from. Now— well, now, he has other reasons.

The doors of the little shop are wide open as he rifles through the shelves. 

Ty stares at him. “Are you sure this is legal?” 

Kit stops. 

Turns to Ty. 

“It is most certainly not.” 

He goes back to the shelves. After a minute or two, Kit returns, bearing two pairs of ice skates. He holds a pair out to Ty, who accepts it with a raised eyebrow. 

“So is date night the ice skating or the felony?” 

There’s a rustling outside. Kit tenses for a second, before remembering that the two of them are glamoured. As he turns his head back around, he catches sight of Ty’s face, glowing in the moonlight. The sharp angles of his features are bathed in a soft blue glow, his eyelashes bearing evidence of the rare snowy days in LA. 

Ty turns back, gray eyes soft, and Kit almost melts right there. He’s ethereal. Ethereal, with his moonlight glow and the stark contrast between the black of his hair and the white of the snow. 

He’s so lost in the way Ty looks, lost in the way his lips move and his hair moves with the cool winter breeze. So lost, in fact, he doesn’t hear Ty speak. “…aren’t you?” 

“What?” 

“I said, you are going to pay for that, aren’t you?” 

“Oh.” 

Kit fumbles for his wallet, fishes a twenty out, and slaps it into the counter. “And the date is the ice skating, not the felony.” He knows he’s smiling stupidly, but he really doesn’t care. Just Ty’s _being here_ is enough to drive him mad. 

He grabs the skates and leaves the shop, closing the door behind him. The rink closes early on Christmas, which is understandable, so yes, the two of them are technically breaking and entering, and yes, it's very illegal, and yes, the police in LA don't fuck around with this sort of thing, but he _paid_ for it, see. And they took out a nest of demons there the week before, so. His crime is warranted. 

Ty’s pulling on the skates as quickly as he can, and Kit feels a rush of love. He’d had a feeling that Ty would like something like this— something active, outdoors, just the two of them. Quiet. Peaceful. He pulls on his skates slowly. 

Neither of them have ever ice skated before, but Kit holds true that shadowhunter reflexes would make them both great at it. It’s definitely making Ty great at it. He’s already on the ice, slowly edging towards the center of the rink. He looks up at Kit, and does a tiny spin, opening his arms and beckoning him towards the rink. 

Kit forgets how to breathe. 

He stands up shakily and slowly makes his way to the ice. He can hear Ty calling out to him, encouraging things like “come on” and “it’s not that bad” and “you can do it”. 

And he believes them. 

He shouldn’t, but he does. 

And so, the first thing he does when he gets on to the ice is fall. 

Ty laughs, skates over like a _goddamn professional,_ and reaches out a hand to help. Kit accepts, grumbling. “Why are you _so damn good_ at everything.” Ty laughs again, and Kit takes a moment to revel in the sound of his laugh, the wide beauty of his smile, the warmth of his hands as they take Kit’s. When he lets go, Kit pouts. 

Ty smiles again. _God, that smile_. 

He skates backward for a second, then does a little spin. Kit stares. “I swear to god, if you’ve got an agility or balance rune or something.” 

Ty shakes his head. “Pure talent.” 

“That has to be a lie.” 

“Talent.” 

Kit groans. “You’re so perfect.” 

Ty smiles and takes both of Kit’s hands. The snow has stopped and a light breeze carries a chill through the air. Kit shivers. “I’ll help,” Ty says. “I’ll guide you. Just come with me and don’t lean too far.” 

Kit releases a breath. _This is a possibility. He can do this._

Ty skates backwards a foot. Kit follows. Ty moves to the side. Kit follows. And so it goes, on and on, until they’re at the middle of the rink. They stop, and then slowly, carefully, surely, Ty lets go of Kit’s left hand, and Kit takes a small step forward. His skates shift. The wind blows a small gust. 

And in a second, Kit is wobbling and on the floor, pulling Ty down with him. Ty seems to think it’s hilarious. He’s laughing so hard, his eyes squeezed shut. And all Kit can think is that he’d rather have a different type of kiss as opposed to the kiss of the ice on his— well— everywhere. 

Ty gets up slowly, still laughing, and pulls his stele from the inside of his jacket. He traces runes on Kit’s arm: balance, agility. Kit frowns ostentatiously. “That’s mean.” But he doesn’t mean it. _God_ , it doesn’t even sound like he means it, because Ty is leaning over him, knees bracketed around Kit’s hips, with Kit’s sleeve pushed back and Ty’s warm hands on his hands and _fuck it_ he’s so weak. 

Suddenly, there’s a flash of a shadow behind Ty’s head. 

Kit grabs him by the arm and pulls him down. He grasps for a dagger at his belt, and upon finding one, throws it, hard. Ty lifts his head, confused, and just as he’s about to say something, a tentacle falls to the floor with an ugly thump. And maybe it’s the runes or the fact that he’s doing it out of necessity, but when he gets up, Kit doesn’t stumble once. 

Because. Well. This? This is absolute bullshit. 

Another tentacle sweeps through the air, making a vague grab for anything alive, only to be dismembered by Ty. Kit pulls the seraph blade from his belt. 

“Uriel,” he whispers. The blade comes to life. 

He remembers when he’d first started training, when Jace had likened the weapon to holding a live wire in your hand, a writhing snake of electricity that pulsed with energy. 

He takes one long look at the dark eyes of the demonic squid and launches the blade forward. It hits dead center, and the demon dissipates. 

He’s about to turn back around when there’s another loud hiss. 

“You’re kidding me.” 

Three more tentacled demons are crawling towards them, leaving a slimy trace behind. Kit pulls out a sword. Ty stares at him. “Where did you pull that from?” Kit shrugs, trying to look indifferent, but inside, he’s positively beaming. “Pockets,” he says, and weighing the hilt in his hand, he charges. 

His first order of business is to not die, he thinks, _a good goal_. 

But alas. 

“Stupid fucking squid!” He yells. 

“You should have stayed in the ocean where you belong!” 

The squid lets out a loud, dull sound. Kit sighs. “My papa ain’t no supermodel either, honey, but you always have to see the best in yourself, right?” 

The squid swings a tentacle around. Kit slashes it. “Look, buddy, I’m just trying to be friendly here, okay?” Another slash. As he’s going for another tentacle, another tentacle grabs the sword and throws it aside. 

Kit swears. 

There are about three more seraph blades stored in his belt. That’s it. He grabs one and does a wide turn, skating underneath a particularly adventurous tentacle, stopping only once to glance back over and check on Ty. Ty is electric. Kit has to physically pull himself away to focus. 

Another tentacle shoots out. Kit groans. 

“I wanted one night! One puny little night!” The tentacle is slashed. “I just wanted one night of being normal, and I thought, okay, ice skating rink, can’t go wrong here, but noooo! You just had to bust in with your ugly tentacled ass! Do you have any fucking idea how disrespectful—” 

The demon lets out a large rumbling sound, and Kit seizes the opportunity to launch a seraph blade into its ugly body. Then, with a shrieking hiss, it dissipates. Kit turns back around. Ty’s sitting down on the ice, elbows on his knees. Kit skates over. He falls to his knees, and without a second thought, the two of them turn to each other, checking for injuries, drawing iratze after iratze for all the minor cuts and bruises. 

Finally, they pull back from each other, adrenaline pumping, the cold air forcing a dry breath into their faces. There’s a second of silence. The wind whistling, the rustling of bushes, the distant honk of a car. 

Kit clears his throat. “Look, I’m so sorry— I didn’t mean for any of this to happen— I just— I wanted something nice, and look what I’ve done, both our date and Christmas ruined, and I—” He looks up, and Ty’s grinning. What. “Ty, please—” 

He’s stopped when Ty takes his face in his hand. Kit’s face flushes. He’s about to start speaking again when Ty’s voice cuts in. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” Kit raises an eyebrow, but Ty continues. “You saved my life. And the way you fought— and skated, like you’ve been training your whole life— you fought so beautifully, like a real warrior—” 

Ty suddenly stops. He’s flushed red. 

Kit stares for a second before it dawns on him. Oh. _Oh._

He grins. “You think me being all warrior-like is hot?” 

Ty sits back on his heels and covers his face. “By the angel, why.” 

“No, no, really? Is that really what you think?” 

Ty shakes his head, standing up, and offers a hand to Kit. “I can’t believe I just stoked your Herondale ego. I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?” 

Kit smiles even wider. “Probably not,” he says, leaning in for a kiss. 

He admires the way Ty’s lips are soft, and how his hands are warm and how, after all this time, kissing Ty isn’t like fire anymore. It feels soft, mellow, beautiful. It feels like home. Ty breaks away, plants a small kiss on Kit’s nose, and pulls him back towards the shop. The two shed their skates, don their shoes, and head home, Kit’s head on Ty’s shoulder. 

He looks around at the city around them. He recognizes places, places where he used to hide, old homes of past customers, people he’s stolen from. He looks around, taking in the rare cold of LA, taking in Ty’s warmth by his side. 

He silently thanks Jem for the impeccable training. 

When they get back to the Institute, they’re greeted with acclaim (Dru) and hot chocolate (Julian). And after a quick washing up, they’re all curled up by the fire with mugs in their hands. 

Kit recounts the story to everyone, with Ty occasionally popping in to fix his exaggerations. And then the night’s over, and they go to bed. 

The next Christmas, though, the story makes a return. Kit recounts it again, with Dru adding in unnecessary details, and at this point, Ty’s really given up correcting the exaggerations. 

The year after, and the year after, and the year after, they all sit by the fire with their mugs of hot chocolate, as Kit recounts a story that they’ve all heard before. 

(Safe to say, though, it changes every time.)

And the years after, it’s the same thing. 

The same beautiful thing. 

A family of warriors, and a lost little boy.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!! this is an idea from @bookish-mind that was insanely fun to write. i’m honestly the worst at writing fights/romances, so i’m very sorry. this sorta sucks. i know. anyway, enjoy! (i take prompts.) (takes a while, though.)


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